


Venezia

by heretherebemonsters



Series: A City With A Story [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Comfort, Friendship, Homesickness, M/M, Male Friendship, Romantic Friendship, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heretherebemonsters/pseuds/heretherebemonsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio turns to Leonardo for comfort and finds his territory being encroached upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venezia

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of the lovely characters.

Ezio was lonely.

He was not often the type to be subject to such emotions, focused as he was these days on his work, but he supposed it had something to do with his current environment. Venezia was a lonely city, he concluded, despite the people that thronged its streets and canals. He knew it must have felt this way to him because it was still unfamiliar, totally unlike the rolling hills and towering cypress trees of his beloved Tuscano. While he couldn’t deny the beauty of Venezia, the constant sound of the dark water sloshing in the canals and the damp, misty air that came with nightfall made him long for the warmth and solidity of Monteriggioni. There was no doubt that he was far from home here and the thought made his heart ache in a way it hadn’t since he first fled Firenze with his mother and sister.

It had taken a long time for Monteriggioni to feel like home but now he missed it acutely. He supposed Venezia would be the same way. At least, he hoped so. He knew he would be here for a while; there was still much work to do.

So Ezio threw himself headfirst into his missions, collaborating with Antonio when he needed more hands for the job than just his own. He ran himself to exhaustion and fell into the small hard bed in his ramshackle room as if it were the softest cloud in the sky and slept the sleep of a dead man. Staying busy was the only way to forget about the pangs in his heart.

Ezio found himself more grateful than ever for Leonardo. Aside from Antonio, who was a business associate, Ezio knew no one else in the whole of Venezia. Ezio more than often than not found his feet taking him to Leonardo’s workshop at the end of a long day, just to see his friend’s bright smile when he opened the door, his melodic voice greeting him, his arms closing around Ezio in a warm embrace. Being with Leonardo made the ache go away, if only for a little while. Having Leonardo in Venezia was like having a small slice of home within easy reach.

Ezio had begun cultivating the habit of going to Leonardo for medical attention while they had been still in Firenze and he continued this practice in Venezia. It was like second nature now; no matter how clouded by pain his mind might be or how weak his body might be, Ezio always somehow found his way to Leonardo, like a lost ship suddenly guided through the night by the burning flame of a lighthouse. Leonardo had always been his refuge, his safe haven, and he didn’t want to imagine it ever being otherwise.

So Ezio was surprised and somewhat disgruntled on the cold, misty night he’d stumbled to Leonardo’s door and knocked, hand pressed to his ribs as blood slipped endlessly between his fingers. For it was not Leonardo who answered his call but a young man he’d never seen before. The newcomer took in all of Ezio from head to toe in a single swift sweep of his dark eyes, gaze lingering on the blooming redness spreading across Ezio’s doublet. The young man stared at him for a moment, smooth angelic features frozen somewhere between indignation and shock. Ezio stared right back, neither of them saying a word. Finally, the stranger turned and called out for Leonardo.

When the artist appeared, his expression instantly morphed from pleasure at seeing Ezio to concern when he noticed the blood. He rushed forward and reached for Ezio before he could lose his tenuous grip on the doorframe and collapse to the floor of the entryway. 

“Ezio! What happened?” Leonardo pulled his friend’s arm over his shoulders and supported the younger man as they made their way into the workshop. The cluttered space was lit warmly by oil lamps and a fire blazed in the brazier to ward off the chill of the damp night. 

“Nothing,” Ezio gasped. It was never his wish to burden his friend with the dangers and risks he faced every day of his life.

“This is not nothing,” Leonardo protested, guiding Ezio toward a chair. “You’re bleeding everywhere!” Ezio realized with a flash of embarrassment that he had indeed left a trail of crimson droplets all across Leonardo’s floor.

“I am sorry for the mess,” he mumbled, grunting in pain as Leonardo lowered him onto the chair.

Leonardo waved away his apology. “Nonsense. Now stay there and do not move.” Leonardo sprang into action, darting about the workshop as he gathered up his medical supplies, which he had long ago learned to keep on hand just for Ezio, never knowing when the assassin might appear on his threshold, bleeding and in need of aid. The artist barked a few orders at the young man, his voice unusually harsh, telling him to bring a basin of clean water and then stay out of the way. The youngster looked as surprised as Ezio felt at the hard edge in Leonardo’s voice but he scurried off to do as he was asked.

Leonardo returned to Ezio with a bundle of pristine bandages in his arms, a pot of ointment and a needle and catgut in the event that Ezio needed stitches, which Leonardo was nearly certain of with the way he was bleeding. He dumped all the items on the nearby table and then began helping Ezio out of his gear. Leonardo’s fingers worked swiftly and deftly, untying the cords which held Ezio’s cape, letting the material fall to the floor in a near soundless whisper. This was followed by pauldrons and chest armor, which Leonardo set aside quickly. Ezio tried to aid him where he could but his fingers were shaky and clumsy with cold and pain and Leonardo gently pushed them away.

“Let me,” Leonardo said softly as he set to work on the multiple buckles fastening Ezio’s ornate belt. In moments, he was pulling it away and dropping it onto the pile of armor. Next was the crimson sash, which Leonardo unwound quickly from around Ezio’s narrow waist. The cloth was soaked in blood, staining it an even deeper red. Finally, Leonardo was able to work Ezio’s doublet off, leaving the younger man in his fine lawn shirt, hidden blade and vambraces still strapped to his forearms. Leonardo carefully peeled the soaked garment away from the wound, inwardly wincing at Ezio’s harsh intake of breath signaling his discomfort. The artist looked up at him apologetically.

Ezio tried to smile for Leonardo but barely managed a quirk of his lips. Leonardo’s expression became fond and he shook his blonde head in good natured exasperation at the assassin’s show of bravado. “Here, hold this up,” Leonardo instructed and Ezio moved a hand to hold the fabric of his shirt up to expose the wound. A great deal of his muscled chest was also exposed along with a dark nipple, which had pebbled with the cool air. Leonardo tried not to gawk, reminding himself that more important things were at hand. Ezio was bleeding and obviously in pain.

But the man was just so beautiful, even now, tired, ragged and injured.

“Who is the boy?” Ezio asked in a strained voice as Leonardo reached for a wad of bandages. He hissed as the cloth was pressed to his ribs firmly in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

“Salai?” Leonardo asked in surprise. “He is my new assistant. He helps me around the shop and runs errands for me. Speaking of, where is that water?” Leonardo twisted away and yelled back at the kitchen doorway. A minute later, Salai appeared with a steaming copper basin in his hands. “I warmed the water,” he said in his own defense, shrugging slightly. “I figured the signore wouldn’t appreciate ice water on his wound.”

Leonardo looked as though he wanted to argue with the boy but couldn’t fault him for his reasoning. He took a breath to calm himself; he always became a bundle of nerves when Ezio was injured. Leonardo never wished to see any harm befall his closest friend and it continually taxed his nerves when he thought of how Ezio was constantly in danger. “Put it there on the table,” Leonardo said, evenly. Salai did as he was told and then disappeared again into the kitchen.

Ezio was glad. He didn’t have a lot of modesty when it came to allowing others to see his body but these moments with Leonardo were private and he didn’t want someone else intruding on them. A stab of jealousy and possessiveness took him by surprise but he shook it away in a moment.

Leonardo carefully and slowly took the bandages away from Ezio’s ribs and sighed quietly in relief when he saw that the bleeding had finally stopped. Standing, the artist dipped a clean corner of the cloth into the warm water and began dabbing at the wound, gently wiping away the smeared blood and cleaning the raw edges of the gash precisely. As careful as he was, Ezio still stiffened in pain, his breathing quickening at the stinging in the tender flesh. His fist tightened around the hem of his shirt, his strong forearm flexing inside his bracer. 

“Mi dispiace, Ezio,” Leonardo murmured quietly as he worked. He hated to add to the other man’s pain but he also knew it was necessary. That still didn’t prevent him from shooting Ezio an apologetic glance as he put the ruined cloth aside and reached for the needle and string. 

Ezio was no fool; he knew that the wound needed stitches but that didn’t make the process any more enjoyable. He liked to think he had a high tolerance for pain and indeed many times he had ploughed ahead into battle despite injuries that would have debilitated lesser men. He reflected on the irony that now, in this moment, something like this could be so much more excruciating than any wound received in combat. 

Leonardo tried to be swift while still being careful. The needle flashed in the firelight as he threaded it through the raw edges of the gash, gently pulling them back together in a methodical fashion. Above him, Ezio bit his lip and breathed hard through his nose in an effort to stay quiet. A few tense minutes passed until Leonardo was done and he deftly tied the string off and put the bloodied needle aside. Ezio let out a relieved breath. Leonardo patted his knee before standing and moving to the table. 

Neither man spoke for the next few minutes as Leonardo mopped up the trickles of blood that had seeped out of the wound, then smeared it with a generous amount of ointment and proceeded to wrap it snugly but comfortably in long strips of cotton. Finally, the arduous process was over and the artist stepped back, wiping his hands on a rag.

Ezio’s exhaustion was plain now in the way his shoulders sagged, so different from their usual proud carriage. His face was pale and drawn but the honey brown eyes he turned to Leonardo were full of gratitude. “Grazie, amico mio.” 

“Prego,” Leonardo replied with a dip of his head. “While it never pleases me to see you hurt, it always pleases me to be able to help you, in any way I am able to.”

Ezio’s lips lifted in a tired smile and Leonardo watched the way the scar at their corner stretched with the movement. How he adored that scar. “I am very lucky to have a friend like you, Leonardo,” Ezio murmured. The assassin appeared ready to fall off his chair and sleep on the floor.

With a small smile, Leonardo took Ezio’s elbow and guided him to the nearby couch he often used for his models to pose upon. It wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture but he doubted Ezio would notice or care right then. The younger man collapsed gratefully onto the brocaded cushions with a sigh, nearly pulling Leonardo along with him. The artist released his friend’s arm and watched fondly as Ezio stretched out, sprawling his long limbs all along the length of the couch. Ezio groped for a pillow and pulled the nearest one under his head. Within moments, he was soundly asleep.

Leonardo stood there for another moment, studying this courageous, kind-hearted and passionate man he had considered his closest friend for the last decade. There was no one like Ezio and Leonardo cherished him doubly for it. Ezio held a place in the artist’s heart no one else would ever be able to fill. Leonardo wondered if Ezio truly realized how much he cared for him. 

Finally, Leonardo turned away to go clean up.


End file.
